The Black Battalion
by Catcateightyeight
Summary: The war has begun, and new recruits are flowing in from every province of Fodlan to support the prince of Faerghus. With them arrives a mysterious battalion dressed in black. They are an odd bunch, with a strange way about them. If they weren't so strong, they may have been cast aside. One of them in particular catches the attention of crown prince Dimitri, and his friends.


The last vestiges of golden sunlight illuminated the rock hewn walls of the decimated cathedral. Malformed streaks cast through the shattered windows glowed brightly against the eastern wall, turning sharply where they met the ceiling. A ragged figure sat on the stairs before the altar, shaggy cloak matted with grime and dried blood. His golden hair was disheveled, and if it were cleaned would probably have rivaled the setting sun in beauty. Alas, everything in this place was but a shadow of its former glory.

Beyond the cathedral bustled with life. Companions chatted amicably between one another as they went through the routine of battle preparation and training. Smiths banged out weapons and armor, drill sergeants commanded their battalions, cooks clattered away in the kitchens. It had been this way ever since the Millennium Festival. Byleth had returned, along with the most prominent members of the Blue Lion's class, and discovered a lost prince. They raised an army, people flocking to Garreg Mach under Byleth's colors. To most, this was a sign of hope. To Dimitri, it was loud, claustrophobic, and exhausting.

He had sought refuge in the cathedral. The monks had finished their faith practices for the day, and the large room was abandoned. It was here that Dimitri sometimes found an escape. Sometimes his ghosts were a little less persistent in these sacred halls. Sometimes his generals, people he once had counted as friends, would forget to look for him here. Sometimes he could get a reprieve from the madness that was the war with Adrestia. Sometimes…

For now his ghosts were nothing more than half formed shadows lurking in the spaces between the broken pews. They looked like almost hominoid clouds of purple and black mist, drifting aimlessly in the long stretches of darkness, whispering incomprehensible things into the evening air. While the sun was still peeking above the mountains they would remain like this, figments of their true forms. However, Dimitri knew that once darkness fell upon the cathedral they would become much more solid, and their voices would eventually rise into a cacophony of shouting that he would be unable to escape from.

He watched his ghosts passively, knowing who each one was even in their vague state, knowing what they were saying despite being unable to hear them. Therefore, he was unsurprised when an unfamiliar specter joined the others. She came around the corner, concealed by the same black and purple mist that comprised his ghosts. As she strode up the center aisle between the pews, the mist fell away from her form. It revealed a strange figure, dressed in all black. Black hood, black cloak, black clothes, black shoes, black mask over her face.

She paused as she came abreast of the final pew, and sank down on one knee. One hand on her raised knee and head bowed, she addressed the mad prince. Her voice rang across the cold stones, clear, melodious, normal.

"Your majesty."

Dimitri continued to watch the stranger through his one deep, blue eye, and didn't say anything. This did not seem to perturb the stranger.

"I have come to offer my support to your war efforts. I lead a small battalion of highly skilled fighters that would surely be an asset to your army."

Dimitri considered the figure before him. This was both an exceedingly normal event, and incredibly unusual occurrence. He supposed that it was perfectly normal for soldiers to proposition themselves as such before the leader of the army, but it was usually Byleth who dealt with these matters. For a moment, he wondered if Byleth had sent her to him in hopes of enticing Dimitri into fulfilling his role more actively, something he had been avidly avoiding. If not, he wondered how she had managed to slip into the cathedral unnoticed.

She lifted her head, watching as he gazed down at her from the stairs. This was an impossible person, and had appeared in an impossible way. She must be just another ghost who sought permission to torment him along with the others. Yet he supposed that if that were the case, he really had no choice in the matter.

"Very well," he rasped, not caring how strained his voice sounded. "I will accept your contribution."

She smiled and nodded. At that moment, the main doors of the cathedral opened, creaking wide enough to admit one person. It turned out to be Byleth, and they glanced between Dimitri and the stranger still crouched on the floor.

"Professor Byleth will help you settle in," Dimitri dismissed, waving his hand at the two.

As the stranger rose and Byleth nodded at the command, Dimitri's gaze slid back to the lingering specters. He knew Byleth would notice his inattention, but he didn't care. If the stranger was indeed real, they had gained a new asset. The professor would be pleased

* * *

Ingrid was overwhelmingly busy this evening. She had been tasked with managing the mounted units of the Garreg Mach army. More specifically, she commanded and organized the flying battalions. Sylvain was supposed to lead the mounted ground units, but Sylvain was missing. It was just like him to shirk his responsibilities onto someone else. If Ingrid were a betting woman, she would bet a full pouch of gold that he was in town praying on unsuspecting women. Now she was left with four stables worth of horses, pegasus and wyvern to deal with and only one stable to put them in.

Despite her preoccupation, she noticed an oddity in the crowd of stewards and squires looking for her direction. There was a person, dressed in all black, waiting patiently off to the side for her attention. She had arrived with Byleth, who had said a few words to the stranger and then left them to wait. Once Ingrid could spare a moment, she approached the stranger, curious and wary.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Ingrid asked politely.

"Yes, I just arrived with my team to join your war efforts and I have five horses that need stabling. They are rather aggressive beasts, so they need some level of separation between them and the other animals." The stranger sounded pleasant enough. She spoke with a brisk, no nonsense manner that made things easier for Ingrid.

"Very well, let me see what I can come up with," Ingrid sighed. Just what she needed, a herd of problem animals.

Ingrid looked down at her notes, hastily drawn maps of the two story barn, edits penned in red where they had split box stalls in half and improvised some tie stalls. A wooden deck had been constructed around the outside of the second level to give the flyers more room. They wouldn't be protected from the elements, but they wouldn't be cramming wyverns and pegasus shoulder to shoulder that way. A pasture or two had been sacrificed as a holding pen for some of the overflow horses, but the chaos there was beginning to cause problems when soldiers when to go find their mounts. Everything was crowded and close quartered.

Ingrid disliked the idea of giving up an entire pasture for a mere five horses, and the barn was so full she would be unable to provide even one empty stall barrier between the newcomers and the other horses. There was always the round pen. It would be a shame to give up exercising space, but she figured the horses could just be run around the arena instead. Hopefully that would work.

"I think I have some space. Let me show you," Ingrid finally said, beckoning the stranger over.

The two walked silently to the round pen, weaving between squires who were hand walking the horses who had been stall bound too long. When the two arrived at the pen, they found it empty, unsurprising given the fading light.

The stranger nodded. "This will do, my apologies for the inconvenience I have caused you."

"It is no matter. We must all learn to make compromises during war," Ingrid conceded. "What is your name?" She asked, preparing to pencil in a note on her map.

"I am the captain of my battalion. You may address me as such."

Ingrid furrowed her brow. It seemed odd for this person to become suddenly so difficult. Then again, Ingrid knew very little of this woman dressed in black, maybe this wasn't strange at all.

"Very well," Ingrid said. She didn't have time to suss out this stranger's issues. She wrote "Black Captain" over the round pen on her map. "I can get things set up for you while you go fetch your horses," she offered.

"That is unnecessary, they are here now." The stranger gestured behind her and sure enough, two men were leading five, huge horses in their direction.

These horses were the strangest creatures Ingrid had ever seen. Unlike the Fodlan breed, these horses did not have long, shaggy hair. Their hair was short, so silky and smooth they reflected even the dim, evening light. Each horse had a mane and tail longer than any she had ever seen, dark and impossibly curly. Long hair grew over each hoof and half way up each leg. They were black, bulging with muscles and tense.

These creatures looked ready to bolt at any second, snorting harsh grunts that shot gusts of steam from their nostrils. With each step they picked their feet up high, and one was prancing in an exaggerated trot step. The men leading the horses seemed unbothered by the spirit of their charges, calmly walking towards their captain. Once they were within arms reach, Captain took the prancing horse from the man leading it. She snapped the reins and scolded the beast, who jumped, but immediately stopped, perfectly squared. When Captain turned her back on the horse, it began pawing the ground aggressively, sparks lifting from the stone walkway as the metal shoe struck the road.

Ingrid opened the round pen gate, keeping the fencing between her and the beasts. "I can assign someone to attend to your horses."

"No. We will take care of them," Captain said, leaving no room in her voice for argument.

Ingrid was half disgruntled that she had been dismissed so firmly, and half glad she didn't have to tell one of the young squires that they would have to deal with these odd horses. If they even were horses. The people tied each horse to one of the posts in the fencing, and began to untack them. One horse received a slap on the flank for kicking out at her neighbor. The tack was placed just outside the round pen, and one of the men pulled a tarp out of a pack and flung it over the saddles. Ingrid just watched as the horses were turned loose, bucking and kicking like two stallions fighting over a mare in heat.

When she realized her mind was straying, she addressed Captain again. "Is there anything else you need."

"No thank you Lady Ingrid. The rest of the battalion is calling, I am needed elsewhere. Just keep people away from the pen and we will take care of the rest."

With that, the three left. It was only then that Ingrid noticed that the men were dressed in exactly the same way as their captain. Long black cloaks covering black clothes and black masks hiding their features. Listening to the wind, Ingrid couldn't hear any raised voices. How Captain had heard her men calling was an absolute mystery. Turning back to the horses, she watched a moment longer as they shook their impossibly long manes and flicked heavy, curly tails at each other.

Not the only mysterious thing I guess….

* * *

NIght had finally fallen. The moon was out, the masses were in the dining hall for food or turning into their bunks. Felix was in the training grounds, finally free of his duties for the day. He hated how preoccupied he had become during daytime. There was never anyone descent around to spar with at this time of day. He was going through drills with a poorly balanced practice sword. Boring, repetitive drills that he had memorized long before he was 17.

A few fighters were still milling about the grounds, mostly absorbed in their conversations. The doors creaked open and shut with the end of day traffic. Felix tried to ignore it, hoping that if he focused his mind hard enough on the drills everything would fade to white noise. However, his mind was determined to be distracted today. In the periphery of his vision, Felix noticed a newcomer to the training grounds.

This shouldn't surprise Felix, new soldiers were still arriving every day, even after four months had passed since the army was established. The stranger in question was dressed quite oddly. Again, this wasn't too strange. There were people from all over the country, even a few from outside the country like in the case of Dedue's battalion from Duscar. Odd clothes were a commonality at Garreg Mach these days. But no, Felix had to notice the strange man, with the strange clothes. It was like he had a presence that drew Felix to him, and wouldn't let him escape until he said something to this man. Fortunately, the man had a sword strapped to his hip under his cloak.

Turning his full attention to the man, he watched the stranger choose a sword from the training rack. It was a decent sword, or as decent as training swords could get. The stranger swung the blade a few times, testing the weight and balance of the sword, before stepping onto the sand. Felix only had to study the stranger a few seconds before deciding he was a worthy opponent.

"Stranger," he barked, catching the light blue eyes of the man. "Spar with me."

The man didn't say anything, just looked between their practice swords and nodded. They took up stances across from each other, swords raised. The stranger stepped, and the two began pacing a circle in the sand. Suddenly, Felix swung, lunging towards the stranger. He parried, flicking Felix's firm strike away as casually as you might swat at a fly. His movements were irrily fluid, as smooth and graceful as a dancer while containing the strength equal to that of a brawler. Felix jumped back, intending to return to pacing the circle, but the stranger followed him.

It was Felix's turn to parry, and he had a much harder time shrugging off the stranger's attack than he anticipated. He could feel the vibrations of the strike in his wrist. Hoping to regain some ground he spun and counterd, met by a well timed block from the stranger. Now this was a fight worth having. The stranger stepped away, and Felix moved in the opposite direction, increasing the distance between them. Before the stranger could collect his thoughts, Felix lunged at him again, his blade colliding close to the stranger's hilt. He heard the man curse as he pushed Felix away again.

Felix smirked. It had been awhile since he had fought someone worldly enough to curse while sparing. Considering they lived in a Monastery, most people considered it insulting to the Goddess to curse on the property, even in the heat of battle. He vaguely remembered his brother mentioning something about swearing during combat. Said it relieved the stress better than grunting, or something like that. Felix shook the thought away, he didn't need to think about Glenn right now.

They began exchanging blows more quickly. Swords clashing with the pleasant sound of wood slamming against wood. Felix tried to change the direction of their foot work, only to be quickly rebuked by the stranger. He was being pushed into a corner, so he ducked under the next swing and twisted around behind him.

The man in black responded quickly, turning in time to stab his sword towards Felix in a piercing movement. At the last second, he swung his sword up, aiming for Felix's chin. He barely had enough time to readjust his block before the stranger's sword would have connected with his jaw. It had been a feint. A very aggressive feint. The kind of feint he hadn't had to deal with years. Not since his brother died.

Felix stepped back, and the stranger let him. He knew that the stranger could have easily followed Felix, he hadn't stepped back quickly or very far. They were both breathing heavily, chests heaving. Felix began to doubt what he had seen. The stranger's cloak made it harder to track his foot work and arm movements. There was no way this man knew how to fight like Glenn. His brother's instructor had been bribed out of retirement by his father, and refused to teach anyone except the Fraldaius children. Just to be sure, he attacked the stranger with an elementary maneuver, one that their instructor had used hundreds of times on them.

The stranger responded exactly as he expected, the exact same way his instructor would have, the exact same way his brother would have. Felix felt anger flash through him as his crest stirred beneath his skin. Who was this man? Curse him for wearing a mask. He tossed his sword to the ground and wrenched the stranger's weapon from his hand by the blade. Felix must have surprised the stranger, the light blue eyes behind the mask widening. He grabbed that stupid, black cloak in tight fists and snarled into the stranger's face.

"Who are you!" Felix shouted.

The training grounds fell silent. All those who were not already watching Felix spar turned their attention to the sand pit. The stranger had his hands up, signaling his surrender. Felix was twisting the fabric in his fists, baring his teeth at the eyes behind the mask. The stranger did not move, did not say anything. Nor did anyone else in the room.

Finally, a voice cut through the silence. "Fighter," it called, sounding firm and calm.

The stranger turned, and Felix followed his gaze. There was another man, dressed just the same as the man Felix had in a death grip, leaning against one of the pillars surrounding the sand pit. He was shorter than the stranger Felix had spared, but no less curious.

"It's time to go," the shorter stranger said.

'Fighter' nodded, and the tension in the room dissipated. Felix released the black cloak and the man stepped away, bowing to Felix and returning his weapon to the rack. The two left, disappearing as the doors to the training grounds shut behind them. Felix was still fuming. Who was this man that could fight like Glenn, who could see through Felix's every move and who himself moved with such flawless agility? He huffed and scooped his training sword back up, returning to his drills. So much for clearing his mind with a sparring match.

* * *

The bar in town was as lively as ever. Warm candle light illuminated every table. Laughter flowed as steadily as the beer from the tap. Tonight would be another busy night. With all the mercenaries wandering in from every inch of Fodlan, many of the drinking establishments had gained a recent increase of customer attendance. This bar in particular was a little out of the way, and was a favorite of many of the civilians remaining in Garreg Mach.

Sylvain had never been to this establishment. It was clean and intimate, and the bartender didn't give him a funny look when he had asked for tea. He had even apologized that they didn't have any appropriate cups, so Sylvain took his bergamot in a wooden beer stein. The bag swam cheerily in the water as Sylvain took a sip. It wasn't the best, it was in a bag after all, but you can't expect high quality tea in a place that specializes in alcohol.

Sitting at the bar and watching the crowd, Sylvain noticed when four new customers entered. They were wearing all black, with black cloaks that were quickly discarded against the backs of their chairs. Each one was wearing a mask over their eyes, but were all still rather distinct. Two were brunette, a male and female, just about the same height. One was a tall, female, blond, with wavy hair and noticeably long legs. The fourth was a man with hair as vividly red as his own, although much straighter and neater. They gave their drink order to a tiered looking waiter and began a quiet conversation.

Sylvain was intrigued. It wasn't every day he came across two perfectly beautiful and perfectly fascinating women such as these ladies. They looked strong, and soft in all the right places. Thick thighs from riding horses and long hair from years of not bothering to cut it. The masks were so enticingly mysterious, Sylvain could not help but make his way over to their table.

"Hello ladies," he said, coming to stand behind the two, fine women. "Have room for one more?" he asked, flashing a wink.

The brunette chuckled softly. "I think we do, handsome," she purred.

Sylvain's eyebrows rose just a titch. So that's how this was gonna be. He grabbed an empty chair and pulled it between the two women. The blond girl didn't even glance up at him. She was holding her hands out in front of her, fingers curved and moving as if she were playing an invisible flute. On the other hand, the brunette seemed content to lavish Sylvain with attention. She looked him up and down, taking in his strong build and beautiful face. A cynical part of Sylvain scoffed at her. She was just another dame after his good looks, money and crest.

"So what brings two fine looking ladies such as yourselves to Garreg Mach Monastery?" Sylvain asked conversationally.

The brunette leaned an elbow on the table, twisting a lock of hair between her fingers. It looked soft and thick, and Sylvain began to wonder what it would feel like between his own fingers.

"What else but the war?" she asked, smiling up at him through her eyelashes.

The redhead behind her rolled striking, blue eyes. "Here we go."

"Are you mercenaries then?" Sylvain asked, setting his stein on the table and folding his hands in front of it.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," she replied.

Koy and flirtatious, Sylvain deduced. The kind of girl that made for an easy lay, and wasn't as liable to cry when things inevitably went south. At that moment the drink order arrived, and Sylvain took the opportunity to change the subject.

"What about your friend here?" he asked, nodding towards the blond.

"Oh don't mind her," the brunette said, probably displeased at Sylvain's shifting attention. "Minstrel gets a bit stuck in her head when she is away from her music."

"Minstrel," Sylvain pondered aloud, "That sounds more like a title than a name."

"You would be right," the brunette affirmed. "When we are on a job my battalion and I go by our titles."

"That must make you the captain then," Sylvain assumend.

The girl preened. "Indeed it does."

"Now now," spoke up the brown haired male. "Don't get too carried away Captain, we don't even know his name yet." He reached across the blond and stroked the inside of Sylvain's wrist. "Well handsome, who do we have the pleasure of meeting."

Sylvain froze. He had been propositioned by other males before, but it was rare and made him feel strange. Before he could speak, his wrist was snatched away by Captain.

"He was flirting with me Scout," she scolded, holding Sylvain's wrist out of Scout's reach. "I will not have you distract him with pretty words."

Scout leaned back in his chair and laughed. It was a warm, mocking laugh. The kind shared between close friends, not with your commanding officer. On the other side of the table the redhead sighed quietly into his beer, taking a long swig. Minstrel had begun playing flute on the side of her stein.

"Fine," Scout said, "I won't embarrass you by stealing away your mark. But you know, handsome, there are always alternatives if she proves to be too much." he winked.

"Scout," Captain scolded, voice turning serious. She glanced at the door, giving it a hard look. "I think you should go find Fighter."

"Alright, alright, I see how it is." Scout waved his hand dismissively and chugged the rest of his beer. He pulled on his cloak and left the bar, a spring in his step. As Scout stepped into the night, he dissolved into the shadows, black cloak blending in with the darkness.

Captain watched the door a moment longer before returning her gaze to Sylvain. The hardness around her eyes had softened as she looked back at him. "Scout does have a point though," She commented, taking a sip of her drink. "You have not told us your name."

"I am Sylvain Gautier, one of the generals in his Highness' army."

"A general!" she cooed, clearly impressed. "I figured you were someone important but I would have never guessed you were that important."

Sylvain smiled behind his tea, taking a sip. She was clever, and he had to admit that it was nice to be flirted with once in a while, even if she was doing a poor job of it.

"So if you are a general to his Highness, does that make you one of the high nobles of Faerghus?"

Sylvain caught the repetition of his own words, so he played along. "Indeed it does."

She smiled, white teeth flashing, but he couldn't tell if she had noticed him repeating her own koyness.

"It's time." The blond woman suddenly spoke. Her voice was sweet, and rang with a beautiful melody. In just those two words you could hear her perfect pitch control, and Sylvain was impressed. She rose from her seat gracefully, lifting her frame like a dancer. Slowly, she walked around the table and towards the door. There was a sway in her step, but it didn't look like that of a drunk. Instead she looked to be dancing some slow, half waltz across the bar. Neither of her companions seemed at all phased by this. Her actions must be normal for her, even if they seemed very odd to Sylvain.

After a moment's pause, Sylvain asked, "Where are you from?"

"Here and there," Captain said dismissively.

Sylvain smiled. Her aloof attitude was beginning to grate on his nerves. Perhaps it was time to move towards something more physical.

"We move around a lot," the redhead added, as if that clarified things.

"How mysterious," Sylvain commented, not allowing his irritation to seep into his voice. "You are a fascinating woman. I would love to see what is behind that mask you wear." He winked, and meant what he said both literally and metaphorically. Sylvain felt that this woman would make for a captivating partner.

"You know," she said, "This bar does have rooms for rent."

Sylvain felt himself heat up at the thought.

"And that's my que to go," the redhead said. He stood up and collected the empty mugs from the table, gathered up the cloak that Minstrel had abandoned and turned to leave. "Have a good night Captain. Good bye General Gautier."

Captain flicked her hand in a wave, eyes never leaving Sylvain. "Shall we continue this in a more private location?" She asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

"Certainly my lady." At least he would be getting something out of her tonight.

Together they stood from the table and turned their steins into the bartender. Captain tossed some gold onto the counter in exchange for a room key. They were directed to a rickety, wooden staircase behind the counter. The stairway was not wide enough for them to walk side by side, so Sylvain followed Captain up the stairs, admiring the way her ass flexed under her tight pants.

The moment they got to the room and the door had shut behind them, they were on each other. Hands tugged at clothing and lips pressed hard against each other. Sylvain was surprised to find his back pressed against the door, handle digging painfully into his hip. He wasn't about to let her get the upper hand quite that quickly, so he pressed his tongue into her mouth. She tasted pleasant, like cool water on a hot day. Aching for more, Sylvain let his tongue dance with Captain's. She gave up the fight for dominance quickly, allowing Sylvain full rein of her mouth while his quick fingers worked at the buttons and belts on her clothing.

Captain was first to be stripped to her small clothes. Sylvain pulled back for a moment to look at her and almost laughed to discover that her underwear was black too. Plain, practical and so very modest, exactly the kind of underwear befitting of a mercenary. Another layer concealing the mystery Sylvain was slowly unwrapping. The thought turned him on, pleasure thumbing through his body. She was panting, lips moist from the sloppy kissing. Captain took the opportunity to relieve Sylvain of his shirt, grinning at his muscular torso. A small, cold hand brushed gently across his pectoral. Sylvain was gorgeous, and he knew it, but that didn't mean he didn't like to be told so.

He swoons under the silent praise of those soft hands and bruning, hazel eyes. Gently, he grasped the cold fingers that were appreciating his body, hoping to warm them up with a kiss. Encircling her with his strong arms, he slowly spun them around, pressing her up against his warm spot on the door. He held her gaze the entire time, watching Captain's eyes dilate as his body towered over hers. She licked her lips, looking as if he were a feast to be devoured. Grabbing his hips, she kissed him hard, pushing him back towards the bed in the center of the room.

Sylvain shivered as her cool hands caressed his skin. Arousal was beginning to build in his groin. Sylvain loved sex. Skin rubbing against skin, hot breath mingling in the darkness. It was times like these that it didn't matter that he was Sylvain Gautier, heir to his father's lands and powerful crest bearer. He would be just a man, and they would be just two people chasing pleasure. Broken down into primal, basic creatures speaking in grunts and moans, simple minded things. Sylvain craved the mind numbing pleasure, the escape from societal demands and the simplicity of carnal desire.

His knees bent as he collided with the bed, Captain pulling herself onto his lap and continuing to ravish his mouth with her tongue. Her hands were now tangled in his hair, fingernails scratching pleasantly against his scalp. Sylvain took his own hands and began twisting them into her hair. It was just as thick and soft as he had imagined. As he explored his fingers caught in the tie of her mask, and he pulled his lips away from her again.

"May I remove the mask baby?" he asked.

"Yes," came the breathy reply.

Carefully, he untied the delicate knots that held her mask to her face. The black material fell away to reveal a beautiful, young face. Her hazel eyes were framed by thick, brown eyebrows and a small beauty spot decorated her left cheek. Smile lines at the corners of her eyes were barely visible, she could not have been much older than he was. Sylvain took a moment to compliment himself on his ability to recognize beauty even through a mask.

"You're beautiful baby," he muttered.

"As are you," Captain responded, leaning back in for a gentle, searing kiss.

The gentleness didn't last for long, as things became heated between the two again. Sylvain's hands began to wonder her cool expanse of skin, trailing down to her hips and pelvis. With dexterous fingers he slipped underneath her panties, smiling as he felt the tell tale wetness. As he caressed her sensitive groin, she muttered "Fuck," into his mouth. Apparently his hands were taking good care of her down there. She panted as he stroked in and around the folds of her skin, not having the presence of mind to notice that she was cold down there too.

"I want you to suck my cock," Sylvain said between kisses, hoping she wouldn't mind his crass language.

"There are other places on you I want to suck first," she whispered back.

He moaned at that, allowing his head to fall to the side so she had access to his neck. Captain leaned into his body and lapped at his ear lobe, teasing lightly with her teeth. Then she traveled down his neck, behind his jaw and down towards his collar bone. Her tongue was cool against his heated skin. Refreshing in a way he didn't think would be quite so stimulating. Her mouth settled over his pulse, sucking lightly at the skin.

Suddenly, she bit down hard. Something sharp dug into his neck. Pain and alarm shot through him faster than a falling wyvern. Then, just as suddenly as the pain arrived, his body began to fill with inexplicable pleasure. He may have been hard before, but now he was fully erect, uncomfortable in his breeches. His whole body was tingling and tightening with arousal. A small tremble took root in his spine as his eyelids fluttered shut. He was moaning, the deep guttural moan he would release when he was close to ecstasy.

Her jaw relaxed, and Sylvain's body relaxed with it. He slumped back onto the bed, mind numb in a way he only felt post orgasm, and he hadn't even cum yet. With great difficulty Sylvain opened his eyes. The sight before him was nothing short of divine. Gorgeous dark hair swirled around pale skin. Her cheeks were rosy with a slight flush. The soft swell of her bosom stood out against the dark fabric of her bra. However, it was her eyes that captivated him the most. They were a blood red, swirling with little lights like the stars in the sky.

"What is your name baby?" he asked, voice low and husky.

She leaned down and kissed him. Only a gentle brush of lips had his breath catching in his throat.

"You can call me Captain," she said, placing kisses along his jaw.

"Please," Sylvain whispered into her ear as he tenderly unhooked her bra. "I want to know who I am going worship tonight."

She studied his face for a moment, lights sparkling brightly in her eyes. "Angela," she whispered.

"Of course," he half moaned, freeing her of her bra and finally grasping the soft flesh. "A name fit for an angel."

Angela hummed happily, leaning into his kneading fingers. "Make love to me Sylvain," she commanded.

Sylvain compiled enthusiastically. He rolled them over and began working himself out of his remaining clothing. The action made him a little dizzy and light headed, but he assumed that was because he was in the presence of a goddess. He could barely keep track of what he was doing as she trailed her fingernails gently down his back, making his trembling worse. Before he knew it, they were naked, and he was pressing his aching length into her.

Angela moaned loudly as Sylvain slid smoothly into her core. He was not as slow as he could have been, but she didn't seem to mind, wrapping her legs around his waist and holding him in. She was velvety soft around him, and deliciously tight. Angela pulled Sylvain down by his hair and kissed him hard, flexing her hips to grind against him. His own moan was swallowed by her eager mouth.

"That's it," she said in a choked whisper. "So good."

He was pounding into her, shaking so hard he could barely support his own weight on his elbows. The pleasure he felt in his groin was radiating everywhere. It consumed his every thought, mind filled with nothing but the intense serenity of love making. Sylvain couldn't even get his thoughts straight enough to figure out why he was doing this. He was running fully on instinct, continuing to fuck into this pristine being because that is what was done. Orgasum be damned, this was pure ecstasy.

Moments later he was proven wrong as the most powerful orgasm of his life slammed into his body. Waves of pleasure crashed through him as he buried himself as deep into Angela as he could manage. His soul may very well left his body with how high he got. Mind completely blank, Sylvain took several moments to return to reality. The first thing he realized was that his face was tucked into Angela's neck, and it was damp with his tears. He was resting his entire body on her chest. With what little strength he had remaining, he rolled off of her, figuring it would be impolite to continue crushing her.

He felt her shuffling around, somehow managing to pull the blanket up over him. Sylvain hummed quietly, nuzzling into the soft pillow. Sleep was coming for him fast, and there was nothing Sylvain could do about it. Before he fully succumbed to slumber, he felt cool lips press against his cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered, and that was the last thing Sylvain heard before he slipped away.

Angela waited for Sylvain's breathing to deepen. She watched him in the moonlight, studying his peaceful features. Once she was sure he was deeply sleeping, she gently turned his head on the pillow. Placing two fingers on each temple, she muttered something in a language not native to Fodlan. Two light bruises appeared below her fingertips, but she knew they would fade by morning. She pet his hair one more time before she rolled out of bed and redressed herself.

* * *

The next morning Sylvain awoke with a horrible crick in his neck. He felt like he had slept on it wrong, all the muscles were sore. He blinked awake and groaned, rubbing his neck in hopes of easing the stiffness. Sylvain was not in his room. His eyes were met by the standard white ceiling of an inn room. Last night began to return to him in bits and pieces. The bar, the tea, the strangers in black, renting a room. Everything stopped after that. He had no memory of anything that happened after Captain had placed her gold on the counter.

Figuring out what had happened wasn't too difficult. He was naked under the covers of a rental room. They must have fucked, but beyond that Sylvain couldn't be sure. His lack of memory was unnerving, and Sylvain began to take stock of the room. Looking to his right, he saw Captain sitting at a small table, sipping a warm drink out of a wooden mug and watching the sun rise behind the sheer curtains. She was fully dressed, and his clothes were folded on the edge of the bed. He sat up, attracting Captain's attention.

"Good morning," she said calmly, giving him a small smile.

"Morning," he mumbled, rubbing his pounding head. "What happened last night?"

"You don't remember?" she asked, brow furrowing.

"No," he admitted, studying her expression.

"Maybe you had too much to drink," she suggested.

Sylvain paused. "Maybe…" he said. Sylvain didn't drink. He never drank. Something was going on.

Sylvain stood up from the bed, and he was immediately struck with a dizzy spell. He swayed, closing his eyes, dangerously close to losing his balance. Suddenly there were cool hands on his hip and chest, helping to steady him. He had never been hung over before, so he did know if that is what this feels like. The only thing he could relate it to was the time he had taken an arrow for Felix on the battlefield. He had lost a lot of blood that day.

"Are you alright," Captain asked in a low voice, sounding concerned.

The spinning gradually stopped, and Sylvain began to feel more confident on his feet. "Yes," he said, sounding more confident than he felt.

She smiled up at him, the hand on his hip rubbing calming circles. Sylvain began to feel uncomfortable with her touch, and his nakedness. This woman was extremely suspicious, and Sylvain didn't want to remain this vulnerable in her presence.

"I should go," he said, stepping back and reaching for his clothes.

Captain nodded and sat back down, giving Sylvain room. They remained in complete silence while he dressed, which only heightened the tension Sylvain felt curling in his gut. He could feel her hazel eyes watching his back as she sipped from her mug. Shuffling his shirt into place, he felt the need to break the silence.

"Did we at least use protection?" he asked.

"Don't worry, I won't get pregnant."

Another non-answer, but what did he expect? Her reply did nothing to make him feel more comfortable. Making one final adjustment to his clothing, Sylvain made his way to the door. On his way out he noticed there was no condom tied off in the trash can. His stomach dropped. Without saying anything to Captain, he left the room. This morning felt like all his shallow fears had come to life. A woman had finally gotten him, and he felt sure that he had a bastard on the way.


End file.
